


sous le ciel de paris

by tekuates



Category: Mona Lisa Smile (2003)
Genre: F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yuletide 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:38:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekuates/pseuds/tekuates
Summary: Betty can never figure out what Giselle is thinking.





	sous le ciel de paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halotolerant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/gifts).



Giselle is no easier to live with after graduation - harder, really. There are no rules, no one walking the halls, making sure her clothes are off the floor and her bed made. Her things spill off every surface and out of drawers, her presence inescapable. Betty cannot shake the habits of more than two decades; each morning she makes her bed with hospital corners and hangs her blouses in the closet. "They wrinkle if you just throw them in a heap," she said once to Giselle, trying to restrain the defensiveness in her voice. Just because her mother taught her to hang her clothes up nicely doesn't mean it can't be her own choice. "Clearly you don't care about that, of course. What do I look like, going out with you?"

Giselle swayed toward her in that languid way she has. "What do you want to look like?" She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, and Betty bowed her head, brushing lint off a sweater. She can never keep up with whatever is going on in Giselle's mind; Giselle always seems somehow two steps ahead, in the know and a little amused that Betty is so far behind.

"We're going out in an hour," Betty says now, tidying up the finished schoolwork on her desk, "so try to look nice, will you?" Giselle has just gotten out of the bath, and the warm, sweet smelling steam is now spilling out of the bathroom.

Giselle laughs, pivoting in and around the doorjamb and she has gotten very close, the exhaled breath of her mirth tangible on Betty's neck. She's been drinking, maybe. "I will," she says, "if you promise not to wear one of those _dreadful_ sweater sets." 

Betty winces, and Giselle seems to sense it from behind her. "That was a joke," she says. "But you really shouldn't. You don't have to impress the country club set anymore."

Betty opens her mouth and almost says, _thanks to you,_ or something similarly cutting and untrue. Then she does what she's been practicing (every day a little better) and chokes down the impulse, builds another wall between her and her mother. She says instead, "What should I wear then?"

Giselle swings around in front of her, her mouth beginning to curl into a smile. She's still in a robe, a thin silky thing she picked up God knows where, and a cigarette smolders in her hand. Betty keeps her eyes up, up, not letting herself trace the suggested shape of Giselle's body beneath the clinging wrapper.

"You never ask my advice," Giselle says, and there's a pleased note in her voice. Betty wishes it wasn't mixed with surprise.

Betty shrugs with attempted nonchalance and says, "I'm asking now," and lets her eyes meet Giselle's even though it makes her hands shake a little, just a shiver like leaves caught in a passing breeze.

Giselle maybe senses that Betty is on a precipice, or is just oblivious and Betty, as always, is making something of nothing. Either way, she lets the moment go without comment, and Betty is able to go on breathing. Giselle flashes a grin and grabs Betty by the wrist. "Come on," she says, and pulls her into her room.

"Sit," Giselle says, already pulling dresses out from heaps, considering them. Most, she throws back where she got them, but a couple she tosses onto her bed instead.

 _Why do you have so many clothes?_   Betty doesn't say that, doesn't let her lips purse disapprovingly, and instead says, "I don't want to take time away from you getting ready."

"I already know what I'm gonna wear," Giselle says. "Anyway, we have plenty of time. Ah!" She whirls around in triumph, her robe nearly coming off with the movement. A line of bare skin from collar to naval appears, and she appears not to notice it for a moment, proffering a deep brown scrap of something. Betty takes it after a second, blinking stupidly. Giselle re-wraps and ties the robe, and Betty looks at the thing in her hand - a thin, gauzy dress, sleeveless and with a tie belt.

"This is barely clothing!" Betty says.

"You wear a slip under it," Giselle says. "The one you're wearing now is fine. Try it on already!"

"Giselle..." Betty begins.

"C'mon," Giselle says, with that sweet tilt of her head, that hopeful note in her voice, and Betty's protests fade away on the tip of her tongue.

"Giselle," Betty says again in a helpless way.

"Put it on," she says, her eyes crinkling in a smile. "Go on!" She turns away to the radio, switching it on and fiddling with the dial. Static flickers, and Betty awkwardly slides off her skirt and shirt, shaking them out and laying them flat on the bed. She takes the dress, slips it over her head and lets it fall. It's a little higher than her ankles, and light, feeling almost to float in the air. She ties the belt; even with that, it has less of a close shape than the dresses she's used to. Betty twists her body back and forth, feeling the movement of the dress, and the radio catches on a song, Edith Piaf singing about the sky in Paris. Giselle turns around with a smile.

"Betty," she says, "you look fantastic! Now just - " She reaches out and combs her hand through Betty's hair, delicately picking out hairpins. She finger-combs it out, and the hair falls around Betty's face. "Much better," Giselle decides, her eyes very warm.

"Better how?" Betty asks. Her hair is tickling her neck and getting in her eyes, and she tosses her head.

"Well," Giselle says, and a smile threatens to grow. "You look like you've been screwing all day."

"Giselle!" Betty yelps involuntarily, and then claps a hand over her mouth. 

Giselle is the only person Betty has seen who really throws her head back in laughter, and Betty cannot help but watch, the action totally genuine and unaffected. Like everything Giselle does. 

Giselle recovers and says, "Okay, it's not  _that_ extreme. You look good."

She puts her hands on Betty's shoulders - Betty's heart stops for a moment - and spins her around to look in the mirror. The rich brown of the dress seems to make her eyes glow, and her hair is loose and tumbling, a little unkempt after Giselle's interference. Betty can see Giselle all over her, and it makes her smile.

"What?" Giselle asks. Betty looks at her in the mirror, and Giselle is watching her, eyes fond.

"I was just thinking," Betty says, "that Mother would keel over and die if she ever saw me like this." Her smile really breaks free at that, and Giselle yelps with laughter.

"She'd have a cow right there and then," Giselle says, and comes up close behind her again, both of them facing the mirror. Her hands slip to Betty's waist, and Betty closes her eyes. Then she feels, soft and warm, Giselle's lips on her neck, just for a second, and her eyes fly open with a gasp. But Giselle is already across the room, pulling a dress from her packed closet. Did she imagine it? But Betty looks in the mirror and sees it; the smudge of lipstick on her neck.

Edith Piaf still sings, her voice low and mysterious. "I'll, um, I'll wait for you in the kitchen, okay?" Betty says.

"Okay," Giselle says, and their eyes lock for a second before Betty ducks her head and leaves the room. She stops in the hall for a moment, then darts to the kitchen. Betty sits at the table, heart pounding, and waits.


End file.
